More Luck Than Sense
by DeniseV
Summary: Ezra was absent from the episode The Collector from when Top Hat Bob hit him until they headed out to Guy Royal's that night.  This is my missing scene of where he was and what happened to him.


"You'd like a face. Guess we're both outta luck."

What the hell had he been thinking?

Ezra's head felt rattled but good. And the vicious, hard blow was going to leave a mark, of that Ezra Standish felt certain. He wasn't too sure about anything else right at the moment as his brain continued to vibrate in his skull. He thought he heard Spikes make a threat against Chris Larabee, but he decided that Vin or Nathan would bring him up to speed on that when he was thinking more clearly … and feeling less like he might throw up all over someone's boots.

Top Hat Bob Spikes and his men rode off in a cloud of dust. Ezra, feeling somewhat put-upon, and a little bit naked sans his nice jacket, started to get up, and then promptly fell down on his butt.

"Whoa, there, Ezra. Stay down," Vin Tanner said as he kneeled beside his friend.

"He hit ya pretty hard," Nathan Jackson noted as he, too, crouched in front of the injured man. "Help me move him up against the tree."

"Please, Nathan, Vin. Mistah Porter," Ezra pleaded. Despite the fact that the man was dead and would not benefit from being cut down in any practical sense, and that Ezra _would _see immediate benefit from the healer's ministrations, Ezra insisted that the poor man be emancipated from his current state. The two lawmen helped Ezra up against the tree and then quickly removed Cody Porter's body from the noose and placed him on the ground, out of sight of their hurting friend.

"I'll git somethin' to wrap him in and get 'im on a horse."

"Thanks, Vin." Nathan turned to Ezra. "Mind if I take a look?"

"Ah am fine."

"No y'ain't," Nathan advised.

"Ah feel fortun'te that he didn't shoot me."

"That may be so. You got more luck than sense if ya ask me. That smart mouth is goin' to be the death of you one day."

"This is not news, Mistah Jacks'n," Ezra slurred. He tipped to his left, his equilibrium way off, but Nathan caught him before he pitched too far over. Nathan positioned him steadier up against the tree.

"Feelin' dizzy?"

"Mistah Jackson … "

"Just answer the question."

"Yes."

"Sick?"

"Yes."

Nathan felt around the spot where Spikes had smacked Ezra hard. "Looks like he fisted his hand, whalloped ya meanin' to do damage. He wasn't carin' if he left you for dead. A little higher up and he might've killed you."

"Yes, b'cause ah do not feel damag'd at all right this moment," the card sharp replied acerbically. Nathan chose that moment to press gently at the middle of the raised bump that had formed. The wound had stopped bleeding, but the former slave knew that the worst of the hurt wouldn't show readily from this injury. Ezra pulled his head back at the touch, knocking it on the rough bark of tree behind him. "Ow … are you tryin' to finish wha' that despicable excuse for a hum'n bein' started?" The look he sent the healer's way might have been threatening if anything more than a narrow sliver showed of the normally far more expressive green eyes. Ezra Standish had mastered a blank, impossible to read expression for when he was playing a hand of poker, or for a mark in one of his cons, but his friends in Four Corners had quickly learned that one of Ezra's tells when he was sick or injured was easily found by looking at his eyes. This time, the fact that he wasn't able to keep them in any manner open was a clear sign of the pain he was in.

"No, just tryin' to see if we need to get a wagon to bring ya back to town."

Vin joined them as he heard Nathan's suggestion. "I c'n head to Nettie's 'n' borrow her wagon."

"Ah c'n ride, gen'lemen." Ezra started to rise, and promptly tipped over again, and quite unexpectedly it seemed as his face planted firmly against Nathan's broad chest. "Ow."

"Help me get this fool up," Nathan suggested. The tracker and the healer helped assist Ezra to his feet. A groan came from the dapper though now jacketless man. "Gonna be sick?" Nathan queried.

"Ah … oh," he started. He lost his balance and sagged once more against Jackson. "Apologies, good sir. Ah am not feelin' quite as … excuse … me … " He didn't finish as he pushed his friends away, fell to his knees, leaned over, steadying himself with his left hand, and threw up his breakfast. The fact that his breakfast had been topped off by a few swigs from his flask while supervising repairs to the fence over at Nettie's place that morning made the retching more unpleasant than it should have been. "Lord," he said as he finally finished. Nathan and Vin got him to his feet once more.

"You sure you don't want Vin to go get a wagon?"

"Ah am sure. Just set me on mah horse, ah'll be fine." Ezra turned left, not seeing his mount, and then right, also failing to find his horse. He kept on turning, and found himself tipping into Vin's shoulder. "Mistah Tanner, where did ah leave Chaucer?" he asked

"Nathan, can you get Cody? Yer damn horse is over here," Vin said as he helped steady his unsteady friend. Nathan had the horse by the reins that held Cody Porter's strapped down body. He moved his own horse to the right of Chaucer, just in case Ezra was still too dizzy to remain seated. He reached over as Vin helped the gambler up; there seemed no doubt that Ezra would have toppled to the ground without the support.

"Thank you, Nathan."

"You're welcome. Don't really think this seems like a good idea, Ezra."

"We mus' return post-haste and advise Mistah Larabee of th' threat that this miscreant poses to our commun'ty." Ezra frowned and squinted and cocked his head, as though just listening to his own words increased the pain in his head.

Nathan watched as the man kept his eyes mostly shut. He shook his head and said, "Fine, but if you're feelin' poorly, you let us know and we will take a break."

"It is a short ride. Ah feel certain ah can maintain my seat for the duration."

By the time they reached the outskirts of town, Ezra's head was hanging down to his chest, the gambler relying on his horse to do the work of remembering where to go, Chaucer sensing that he needed to walk gingerly in deference to his injured master. Vin and Nathan rode very close to their stubborn friend, not willing to risk further injury to the man. They had exchanged worried glances more than once. This journey out to some of the outer reaches of the town could have ended much worse. Cody Porter was dead, but the way Top Hat Bob Spikes had hauled off and struck Ezra could have resulted in an injury far worse than what he received. As it stood, it was evident that he'd suffered concussion, to what extent Nathan still was not sure.

Vin and Nathan steered all of the horses to the staircase leading up to the former stretcher-bearer's clinic. Vin reached over to wake up the southerner.

"Ezra, we're back."

Standish raised his head and tried to focus glazed, unfocused eyes.

"Damn," Nathan said.

"What?" Vin asked with concern.

"His eyes, he definitely got hit hard. He's havin' trouble focusing."

"You wou'd, too, if 'n insane murderin' repr'bate had struck you wi'out prov'cation,' Ezra muttered. "Did ah mention he was ugly?" he added quizzically.

"Don't know about no provocation," Nathan said as he stayed mounted while Vin jumped from Peso and started to help Ezra down. "You told the man he needed a new face."

"It was not an untruth," Ezra insisted.

"Don't mean he didn't feel like punchin' ya. I've wanted to do that to ya fer a lot less," Vin joked as he held to the sagging southerner.

"Yes, but your gen'lemanly nature, d'spite ev'dence to th' contrary," he said, waving his hand up and down lazily at Vin to demonstrate his point, "your insistence on hidin' it be'hind scraggly hair and smelly hide, prevent'd you from takin' such uncouth action." He squinted his eyes at the renewed pain; he'd stopped talking on the ride back as every movement, every sound pounded his very soul with pain.

"Maybe. But maybe fer now you could just shut up and let me and Nathan get you up to the clinic."

"Clinic? Ah would pref'r the comf'rt of mah own room," the con man insisted as he turned in the direction of the saloon before he'd even gotten both feet on the ground. The effort, compounded by the persistent dizziness tripped him up and he landed, nose first, against his saddle. He sighed and leaned in against the comfort of his horse. "Ah s'ppose the clinic will do."

Vin shook his head and Nathan smirked. The healer held the injured man up, with an able assist from Chaucer, as Vin tied all of the horses' reins on the hitching post and then helped Nathan walk the increasingly woozy man to the steps.

"Please stop," Ezra insisted, halting quickly in his tracks. "Ah … " he said, but then pointed toward some crates near the back section of the building. They walked him over, knowing that he would be losing the rest of whatever else was left in his stomach, which he promptly did.

"You all right now?" Nathan asked.

"Yes. Mah apologies …"

"Stop that, Ez. Ya been hit on the head. Can't control what yer body's tellin' ya," Vin insisted as he helped Nathan get the boneless Ezra up to the clinic. They practically carried him the last few steps and then placed him gently on the bed.

"Just lay there a minute, get your breath," Nathan suggested. He opened the curtains to let in some light, but left the curtains of the window nearest the still-nauseous man closed, only opening the window a couple of inches in hopes of bringing in some fresh air.

"Th'nk you, gen'lemen," Ezra said

"Don't sleep," Nathan warned.

"No, sir," Ezra agreed softly.

"He gonna be all right?" Vin asked.

"Yeah. Got punched hard, got a serious concussion. You can see the lump has gotten bigger, but it didn't bleed much. Got lucky he got hit on a hard part of his head," Nathan explained.

"Seems to me all o' Ezra's head is hard," Vin retorted with a wicked grin.

"Ah heard that," the injured man said from the bed.

"Good, 'cause Nate wants you to stay awake a bit."

"Yes, keepin' the patient in s'vere pain is 'n int'restin' way of doctorin'," Ezra replied smartly.

"I ain't a doctor, so I guess that's all right, then."

Vin snickered, but immediately grew serious knowing his next task at hand. "I'm gonna go take Cody's body to the undertaker and then let Chris know what happened."

"We'll be here," Nathan said.

"Or in mah room," Ezra practically whispered.

"Stubborn," Vin said as he shook his head and left the room.

"Yes," both Nathan and Ezra agreed.

The door to the clinic opened a little while later as Chris entered the room. He looked over to where the gambler lay on the bed, and then nodded his head to Nathan as he sat in a chair reading.

"How's he doing?" the leader of the seven asked.

Nathan didn't respond but directed Chris over to the door and then answered back softly, "Head's hurtin' bad. Spikes fisted his hand when he hit him. I'm tellin' ya, he was aiming to hurt him, bad. Just got lucky that he didn't get hurt worse."

"How is it, Mistah Jackson, that you continue to understate mah predicament," Ezra whined from the bed. "Ah fear ah have lost brain cells from this encounter."

"Ezra," Chris said as he took the chair next to this most frustrating member of his team, "I know I've seen you duck before. What the hell happened?"

"The behemoth moved swifter than ah anticipated." The southerner lay on his side, a bucket within reach. His eyes were slits, keeping them open obviously too much, but keeping them completely closed was paining him as well. He pulled his hand up to rub his forehead, but Chris stopped the movement.

"You sure you want to touch that?" The lump was sizable, and the area that had been bloodied by the hard punch looked raw and painful. Ezra agreed with the suggestion and rested his hand back down on the bed.

"No."

"You gonna be all right? We could use you with all that's goin' on with Royal," Chris suggested.

"He ain't goin' anywhere for a while. Needs to rest. See if the dizziness and sickness goes away."

"Mistah Jackson, do you not believe that mah medical concerns are mine alone?" Ezra asked, annoyed that the healer insisted on sharing the more intimate details of his time within the clinic with, well, just about anybody.

"They are our concern if you can't be there to help protect this town."

Not wanting the thought to linger that he might not care enough for the town and its people to get out of a sick bed, even if he himself wasn't exactly sure yet whether he did, knowing only that he truly _did_ care enough about these six men to be there to cover their backs, Ezra said, "Mistah Larabee, ah am not shirkin' mah responsibility to this town or to mah fellow peace keepers." He started to rise from his bed, to show that he was ready and willing to take his place with his fellow lawmen in making a stand against Guy Royal and his efforts to force people off of their land, but once in a sitting position, he tipped over, as he had earlier at Porter's property, and at least one other time, if his murky memory served. Chris caught him and set him back on the bed and up against the pillows.

"Maybe you're ready, but your body is not willing, least not yet. Just take some time to rest, like Nathan said. We'll come get you when we need you." Chris stood and left the room. A groan from the bed brought Nathan over with a mug in his hand.

"Drink this, it'll help with the pain and help you get some rest."

"Thank you, Nathan." Ezra took the mug and drank it down without protest. Nathan shook his head. The man was in pain if he would drink down the medicinal tea without comment. "Disgusting," the gambler whispered as he snuggled into the pillow.

Spoke too soon.

Nathan welcomed the next visitor. Buck waltzed in and took the seat next to Ezra. "He gonna be okay?" The healer figured he'd be answering that question many times this day.

"Yeah. He's got a hard head." Ezra was asleep now; Nathan felt safe in restating Vin's comment from earlier.

"Vin said he got hit hard," Buck said as he put the back of his hand to the forehead, moving the slightly damp bangs out of the way. "Feels kind of warm."

"He still ain't feelin' so good. He should sleep it off soon enough. And even if he don't, he'll want to be part of gettin' Royal and Spikes."

"Well, he's tougher'n he looks, and that's a fact." He frowned down at the sleeping man, shook his head and then stood. "I gotta get out o' here and go meet up with Chris. See you later, Nathan."

"See you later, Buck."

About a half an hour later, J.D. stopped by. "Is it all right to come in?" he asked hesitantly.

"Come on," Nathan said. "He's gonna be fine."

"He is? That's good. I heard that marshal really laid into him," J.D. said as he watched Ezra sleep. "He looks really out."

"He is. He needs the sleep," Nathan explained.

"Well, I just thought I'd stop by."

"All right." J.D. turned to leave, but Nathan called after him. "J.D., have you seen Josiah around?"

"Um, yeah. He probably won't be by," he added uneasily.

"Why not?" It wouldn't be normal for Josiah not to stop in and check when one of them was injured.

"He's been drinkin' non-stop since that 'Getting Gertie's Garter' show this afternoon."

"Emma Dubonnet didn't turn out to be who he thought she was?" Nathan asked.

"Don't know about Miss Dubonnet, but it seems that she's not the only one pretendin' to be someone she ain't," J.D. said. Realizing that he might have said more than was appropriate, J.D. added, "I gotta go," and out the door he went.

Nathan shook his head and got back to mixing the herbs and other ingredients together for more of his teas. He left briefly to get a bite to eat and returned to find Ezra still sleeping, seemingly comfortably, the pain that was so noticeable earlier having eased from the handsome face. Ezra had been sleeping for nearly five hours, except for the two times Nathan made him wake for a drink of water, when the door to the clinic opened and Vin entered. He didn't say anything, just nodded his head toward the recumbent man.

"We ready to go?" Nathan asked.

"Chris figures if we leave now we can get there by dark," Vin replied as he stepped over to the bed. He looked at Nathan, who nodded his assent. The tracker sat in the well-used chair and said, "Ezra, time to get up." The sleeping southerner rolled from his side, where he had been sleeping most, onto his back.

"Mistah Tanner."

"Ezra, you ready to get up and go after Royal and Spikes?"

"As ready as ah can be," he said as he reached his hand out. Vin took it and helped his friend to a sitting position.

"How ya feelin', Ezra?" Nathan asked as he offered the con man a glass of water. Ezra drank it down, knowing that he could still use more fluids replenished after the bouts of illness earlier.

"Ah am ready to apprehend these bullish oafs. Ah need to get to mah room and freshen up," the gambler said as he stood up. Nathan and Vin stayed close, but Ezra appeared steady all on his own.

"Freshen up? We're headin' out. Yer liable to git dirty, Ezra," Vin said reasonably.

"Vin, I'll go with 'im. We'll meet you at the livery in fifteen minutes," Nathan said. He couldn't really see the point in getting the gambler all riled up. Besides, after being sick and sweaty all afternoon, he couldn't blame the man for wanting to clean up some.

"Ah do not require a chaperone, Mistah Jackson."

"Just goin' with to make sure you don't fall asleep in that comfortable bed of yours," Nathan justified.

Ezra had to concede the possibility, and said no more as he preceded the other men out the door. And in fifteen minutes, Ezra and Nathan joined the others, the card sharp wearing his least colorful jacket in place of the one misappropriated by Top Hat Bob for Guy Royal. They rode up the avenue, Ezra keeping comfortably to the rear of the pack. Nathan spotted Josiah on the boardwalk at the saloon.

"Josiah, you comin'?" he called to the former preacher. The man was unquestionably drunk, and just as certainly would not be joining them as they made their way to Royal's. He sat his not inconsiderable bulk on the wooden step, a bottle of rot gut his only friend. The other six rode off.

As the lawmen of Four Corners rode out to confront Royal and his men, they made their way to the outer limits of the town, and then headed up into the hills that led to Guy Royal's property. Nathan looked back to see Ezra trailing behind. He pulled the reins in on his horse and awaited the gambler.

"Nathan?" Ezra asked.

"Just want to make sure you and Chaucer don't get separated." Ezra Standish's first thought was to challenge the man, to clarify why he felt offended that the healer thought him unable to gauge whether or not he should be riding a horse, at night, so soon after being hurt. But on second thought, he realized that the thoughtfulness felt good. It was a sensation that he had not experienced in a long, long while. The sense of camaraderie he shared with these men was something that could keep him around this town for the forseeable future. It felt good to belong, even if he still felt the odd man out at times. Ezra watched the beauty of the evening's sunset as they made their way farther out from Four Corners. He felt a stirring in his gut; not the sickness from earlier, however. He felt overcome by warmth, a content feeling. He was not entirely positive of where it came from, but he was undeniably sure that it was welcome.

"Ah can respond for mah equine companion when ah say that your concern is much appreciated."

The End.


End file.
